


Regret

by OutlawLord



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, POV First Person, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29726454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OutlawLord/pseuds/OutlawLord
Summary: I attended the funeral of the man I loved.
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	Regret

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this youtube video of an animatic of someone saying "I attended the wedding of the man I loved" and someone in the comments said, "Imagine a video that's like 'I attended the funeral of the man I loved'" and that really resonated with me so

I attended the funeral of the man I loved.

They called it a celebration of life, as opposed to a mourning of death. I wore a light green button-up shirt and some old jeans, soft with age. His head once rested on these jeans, as he smiled up at me, his face as radiant as the golden sun, and said, “I really like your jeans, they make you look good.” As I sat in some dark corner of the church, I clenched my hands in them, pretending that I wasn’t shaking, that I could still feel the weight and warmth of his body lazily draped across mine.

I attended the funeral of the man I loved.

It was a full-blown party, with food and alcohol, laughter to hide the tears. I sipped at the wine they had, and remembered how he used to lick his lips afterwards and proclaim, “Harvested in the summer of 1987. There was a drought that year. The farmer’s wife was cheating on him with their neighbor.” I laughed to myself for a moment, but I immediately choked on my tears. Someone clasped my arm in consolidation, but I didn’t bother looking up to see who it was. “I know he was a close friend of yours,” they said, before blending back into the crowd. I wanted to scream that no, he wasn’t just a close friend, he was so much more, we held hands, we kissed, we made love, we talked about the future, about telling our families and being there for each other no matter what and moving in together and getting married and adopting kids and growing old. We talked about growing old together. I remained silent.

I attended the funeral of the man I loved.

As his childhood best friend, his family thought it best if I gave the eulogy. I talked about meeting him, about him sticking around, God knows why, about us playing the same sport together and going to college together and seeing the world together and about how I guess we weren’t meant to be together forever. I didn’t talk about late nights with him in my arms, me getting up and him holding on and whispering, “Please don’t go.” I didn’t talk about the dates we went on, taking the train all the way to Tokyo because we couldn’t risk anyone who actually knew us seeing us together, because one look at our faces would have given us away. I didn’t talk about the way my eyes lingered on jewelry stores for just a bit too long, trying to see if something might catch my eye without attracting the attention of anyone around me. I didn’t talk about how I’m terrified of moving on, of forgetting, of being happy without him, because I’ve never been happy without him, because he’s always been there to pick me up when I fall or make me fly when I’m rooted to the ground. I didn’t talk about how much I loved him, how much it hurt to see him go, didn’t talk about how I was the last one to talk to him, because no one knew he was visiting my house. I didn’t talk about how I watched him walk into the horizon, and every atom in my body screamed at me to call him back, or hug him one last time, but I didn’t because I was scared. Maybe if I had called out his name, if I had run up to him like I wanted to and wrapped him up in my arms and didn’t let go, if I had been a little less scared of what the repercussions might be if I did so, if I had been a little less scared of the judgment from the people in our lives, if I had just given him the key to my house like I had planned on doing several months ago, if-

I attended the funeral of the man I love.

His hair, his freckles, his smile, his skin, his touch, his warmth, his heartbeat, his life.

I miss him.


End file.
